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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24278902">Varric Tethras, PI</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttercup23/pseuds/buttercup23'>buttercup23</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Noir, Detective Noir, Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 01:01:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,787</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24278902</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttercup23/pseuds/buttercup23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Varric Tethras is asked to investigate the death of Cailan Theirin by his widow Anora, he and his partner Marian Hawke discover a twisted tale of secrets and murder. AU/Detective/Noir</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Varric Tethras, PI</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Everybody has a story to tell.</p><p>I know, I know—that sounds like a terrible cliche even to me, but I don't mean everyone has a history or skeletons in their closet (though both of those things ring pretty true). No, what I mean is, everyone's got a narrative they think they're a part of, where they are the main character and all of life's obstacles and pitfalls are just plot twists in the grand tale of their life.</p><p>Everyone thinks they're the hero. Almost nobody counts themselves a villain.</p><p>Problem is, life isn't like a story. A story has a beginning, middle and an end. A story makes sense.</p><p>And stories only have room for one main character, to the great relief of most people, I tend to think. If people truly understood the perils of the role, particularly in terms of life expectancy, most people would opt out. Main characters might drive the story forward with their decisions and actions, but the costs can be high. Don't be a main character if a peaceful retirement is important to you.</p><p>But this is real life, not a story. In real life, you just act, trying to correctly tell the villains from victims as often as you can and trying to avoid becoming either one… trying to mash some sense out of consecutive disasters.</p><p>I guess that's where I come in. When people seek out my services, they may say they want to find someone, or discover a secret, or prove their worst suspicions about their spouse, but what they really want from me is something harder to deliver: a point to it all. A narrative wherein the role they played made sense—it had a beginning, a middle, and an end… and win or lose, the hero did his best in the face of overwhelming obstacles…</p><p>I always give them a story. It's not always the one they're expecting, but I give them the one they deserve. That's my job.</p><p>I'm Varric Tethras, private investigator.</p><hr/><p>Anora Mac Tir-Theirin was not an easy person to feel sorry for. Sure, the poor woman had recently lost her husband, but there was something about her that prevented genuine sympathy. Later, my partner would sum it up perfectly: "She wears her grief rather fashionably, doesn't she?"</p><p>I might be inclined to label my esteemed partner petty if I hadn't thought something similar. From the way each of Anora's platinum blond hairs was pulled without exception into a severe bun at the nape of her neck, to the perfect angle the pillbox hat with a tiny black veil sat perched on her head, she was simply too damn impeccable to engender a charitably proportional sense of pity.</p><p>"Mr. Tethris," she began, after she took a seat on the very edge of the wooden chair that sat across from my desk. She was being careful, perhaps, not to wrinkle the lines of her dark grey Chanel suit. "Thank you for seeing me without an appointment."</p><p>I ignored the snort of laughter Hawke gave—our calendar isn't exactly packed these days, and in truth we've been pretty desperate for a client of any kind to walk through the door—no appointment needed. "It's our pleasure. How can we help you?"</p><p>Surprisingly steely blue eyes met mine. "I need to know who killed my husband."</p><p>I gave a circumspect frown. "The papers say the police already have a man in custody."</p><p>"I know what the papers say." Anora's composure cracked for a temporary breath, before she adjusted the stole that draped across her shoulders and stuck out her chin. "A lurid story of a cheating spouse and a jealous boyfriend. I don't deny that my husband had his faults, but there is more to this story than what you can read in the papers."</p><p>A hint of color had risen to her cheeks at the oblique mention of the rabid gossip that those very papers had spread since Cailan Theirin's body—and the body of a young woman—had been discovered, both shot to death in Cailan's car.</p><p>Hawke had been standing silently behind me. She took a step forward now, and rested her hands on the top of my desk. "If the police have the wrong guy, just who do you think committed this murder? How many enemies did your husband have?"</p><p>The two women couldn't appear more opposite, it occurred to me as they studied each other. Hawke's wild black curls were cut chin length and left unrestrained. Her suit consisted of pinstriped pants and a tight fitting matching vest that she wore without a shirt, leaving bare a pair of biceps that could rival many men's.</p><p>Anora's eyes widened incrementally. "Plenty. But, I don't believe it was one of them, actually. I think… I think he was betrayed by a friend."</p><p>Hawke and I shared a look. "Sounds like you have someone in mind," I said.</p><p>"I do." Anora took a deep breath. "My father."</p><hr/><p>Kirkwall's county jail was an unforgiving place on a good day, and Kirkwall didn't have many good days to string together lately. When Hawke and I paid it a visit, it was filled to the brim with political agitators and mob-connected bootleggers, as well as your run-of-the-mill drunks. Getting inside to interview a prisoner would have been impossible on my own, but Hawke's collection of friends sported diverse backgrounds, high and low. She and the police captain were on a first name basis. Hell, Hawke had actually talked Aveline into tagging along on a stakeout or two with us—just for fun. So, when Hawke pleaded with the large-jawed ginger and promised return favors galore to get her to budge, I wasn't surprised when ten minutes later we were sitting at a table in one of the precinct's interrogation rooms.</p><p>A couple of uniforms dragged in a well built man with short, reddish blond hair and a tiny patch of beard on his chin. They uncuffed him and left him standing in the middle of the room, facing us.</p><p>I didn't see it until he looked me in the eye, but once I did, it was impossible to unsee: the man was clearly related to Cailan Theirin.</p><p>"Who are you? You're not my lawyer."</p><p>"Who'd they stick you with?" Hawke leaned back in her chair. "Bran Cavin? Hopefully not Javaris Tintop. He's rubbish and you're going to need a good lawyer going up against District Attorney Meredith Stannard."</p><p>The young man looked at Hawke out of the corners of his eyes. "Neither of those. A guy by the name Hawthorne."</p><p>"Never heard of him." Hawke let the chair return to the floor with a thump. "Not a good sign."</p><p>The man looked back and forth at us before finally settling on me. "Again. Who are you? What are you doing here? What do you want?"</p><p>"Please. Take a seat. I'm Varric Tethras and this is my partner, Marian Hawke. We're not with the police and we're not lawyers. We're private investigators, and we just might be able to help you if you give us half a chance."</p><p>I shot him my most winning smile and held my breath. At last, he exhaled and sat down. "Nice to meet you."</p><p>"Nice to meet you, too, Mr…" I hesitated. The only last name I had for him was probably not the name he was born with.</p><p>"Alistair is fine," he said, waving a hand. "Who hired you?"</p><p>"The widow of your recently deceased half brother, Cailan Theirin."</p><p>Alistair blinked several times. "You're not serious."</p><p>"Actually, I am." I clasped my hands together and set them on the table in front of me. "The grieving widow doesn't believe the official story, and wants to get to the bottom of what happened. And since she's my client, that's what we want as well. So, if you can tell us your version of what happened, maybe together, we can find out the truth."</p><p>Alistair leaned forward, pressing his palms into the table. "The truth is that I didn't do it! I'm innocent. I didn't kill Cailan."</p><p>Hawke and I shared a look. I couldn't tell whether she bought his claim or not, but at least he was talking to us. I smiled again at Alistair. "Help us prove it, and maybe we can get you out of here."</p><p>The young man's warm hazel eyes darted between the two of us, calculating. The kid might be young and naive, but he didn't appear to be criminally stupid. A rare quality in these parts.</p><p>He gulped, and then nodded to himself. "Alright. I'll tell you what I know."</p><hr/><p>"What do you think?"</p><p>Hawke's blue eyes narrowed as she peered out the windshield, her left hand gripping the steering wheel. "If that man's a cold blooded killer then my ability to read people isn't half as good as I think it is."</p><p>I kind of thought her friendships with the possessed doctor and the ex-con with all the weird tattoos had already brought her character judgment under question, but I declined to say so just then. We agreed in this case, and that was enough. "He doesn't strike me as the type, either."</p><p>"If Cailan really changed his will, we need to find it," Hawke said. "Though I can see why he didn't tell the police about it. They might see it as more evidence of motive. Smarter than he looks, I guess. But it sure calls into question the official story."</p><p>The official story was that Cailan and Alistair were seeing the same woman. Anora had mentioned Cailan's many affairs as a possible motive for her father to do away with him. The widow and her late husband had not had a happy marriage, it seemed.</p><p>"Right. What do you make of the young woman?"</p><p>"Fishy as the Waking Sea."</p><p>"My thoughts exactly."</p><p>They had found a woman dead with Cailan—shot in the head, just like her love. When the police searched their bodies, they'd found a necklace in her purse—a locket with the name "Al' etched into the heart. Alistair had claimed he'd never seen either the woman or the necklace. But the bullets found at the scene matched a gun found in Alistair's dingy apartment, and that had been enough for the police.</p><p>"There's something he's not telling us," I said. "Something about that girl, maybe. Or… I don't know." I sighed. "Proving the kid's innocence is going to be an uphill battle."</p><p>Hawke's mouth curved into a smile that was all teeth, glinting in the streetlights. "You know me. I like a challenge."</p><p>I probably should have reminded Hawke that we were being paid by Anora Mac Tir-Theirin, not Alistair, but why ruin a moment?</p><hr/><p>"Come on boys. Don't look so pale. It's just a flesh wound."</p><p>Anders and I shared a tense glance over Hawke, who was stretched out over my desk, bleeding into the mahogany.</p><p>"Stop talking." The doc's clipped accent always managed to make his commands sound more authoritative than they should have. "You, press here—hard—so we can stop the bleeding."</p><p>I tried to ignore the wet warmth that seeped into my fingers as I pressed on the bandage. "Damn the Howe gang to Hell."</p><p>"No way," Hawke said weakly. "I never want to see them again."</p><p>"Very funny."</p><p>Anders worked furiously to attach a needle to Hawke's right arm, and then connected a bag of blood to the tube. I wondered absently whether the good doctor always carried around bags of blood, and why, but decided to file the question away for later inquiry.</p><p>I tried to keep my voice steady. "I'm more worried about what the police'll think when they find an entire crime family has been wiped out."</p><p>"Probably give me an award," Hawke mumbled.</p><p>The faintness of her voice made my chest seize. "Yeah, probably. Now shut up and let the good doctor work."</p><p>Hawke smiled but fell silent. I fell silent too, and ground my teeth together as Anders removed the bullet and stitched Hawke up. His nimble fingers moved without hesitation, while beads of sweat appeared on his furrowed brow. Only when it was over did he allow himself to look Hawke in the face.</p><p>If she'd been awake and seen Anders gazing at her like that…</p><p>Well, I wasn't quite sure how she would react, to be honest, and that troubled me. Not quite as much as the bullet hole in Hawke's side troubled me, but close.</p><hr/><p>The door to the office opened, and a familiar slight figure stepped inside, her hands all a flutter. "Beg your pardon, but there's a Ms. Anora Mac… Theirin… well, whatever she goes by now, she's here. For you."</p><p>"Thanks Oranna. You can send her in."</p><p>When the door closed, I turned to Hawke and studied her for a few heartbeats. Was she unusually pale, or was that just a trick of the light? And if she were a little pale, wasn't that to be expected after taking a bullet to the side a week ago?</p><p>Anders had said the bullet had 'missed everything important' and Hawke had said with a laugh, "Guess I'm not that important." The good doctor had been flummoxed at that, and I'm not above admitting I enjoyed his discomfort.</p><p>"Stop eyeballing me. I'm fine."</p><p>"Right. Of course you are. So fine that you painstakingly dragged over another chair and spent a good thirty seconds to arrange yourself into that slouch just so you wouldn't have to stay on your feet for our next appointment."</p><p>Her lips twitched. "Something like that."</p><p>The door opened and in walked Anora, wearing another expensive and immaculate suit. This one looked black in the dim lighting of our basement office, but I suspect it was really a dark navy.</p><p>She glided over to us, and when I stood, she waved a hand congenially. "Please, don't get up," she said, taking a seat next to Hawke—right on the edge, just like last time. "Do you have any news to report on my husband's case?"</p><p>Hawke shot a smile at me and nodded. I cleared my throat and stood.</p><p>"Let me tell you a story." I started walking, slowly, as I talked. "It's the story of a man and what he loved, beyond all else. Beyond his wife, may she rest in peace. Beyond his friends, or his friends' children… even beyond his own daughter. Do you know what this man loved, Ms. Theirin?"</p><p>"Mr. Tethras, I would appreciate—."</p><p>"Answer the question."</p><p>Anora swiveled to glare at Hawke, who remained artfully slouched in her chair. Something in my partner's eyes held Anora's annoyance in check. The widow's mouth snapped shut, and then she turned to me and said quietly, "I don't know."</p><p>"I think you do, Anora. The man—your father, let's not beat around the bushes any longer with that—he loved the tiny shipping company he and his best friend Maric Theirin founded together. He and his friend fought for this company, through the wars, through hostile takeovers, and through overreaching government regulations… for over thirty years. No one… no one was going to take that away from Loghain Mac Tir."</p><p>Anora's hands were clasped tightly in her lap and her lips were drawn into an anxious thin line. "I see."</p><p>"Do you? I wonder about that myself—but let's not get too far ahead." My walking had brought me to the bar. I poured a couple of glasses of whiskey. On a whim, I grabbed a third and poured. "Anyway, as I was saying… no one was going to take that away from Loghain. Not even your husband."</p><p>Anora frowned at the rocks glass I proffered, but then reached out and grabbed it. "Please. Go on."</p><p>I handed Hawke her drink and sipped mine. "Not your husband, and not the bastard son of his best friend, either."</p><p>Anora was still wincing from her tentative sip of whiskey. "You mean Alistair?"</p><p>Hawke's gaze shifted to mine for just a moment. "You knew?"</p><p>Anora shook her head. "Not until after, of course. But what are you insinuating? How would Alistair take the company away from…" She trailed off, looking suddenly disturbed. "Oh my… you don't mean…?"</p><p>Hawke and I shared grim smiles. "That's right. Cailan owned just a bit more than half of the company, didn't he? Loghain was always pressing for more capital so they could compete with Val Royeaux Imports… he saw every competitor as a threat, but he got downright paranoid over the last few years, didn't he?"</p><p>I walked back to my desk and picked up a manila folder. Setting down my glass, I opened it, and scanned its contents. "The fact is, Loghain didn't think anything of selling his shares to Cailan, did he? Because Cailan would never sell, of course, and besides, he was married to Loghain's daughter. There was no reason to suspect he might hand over the company to somebody else."</p><p>The knuckles of Anora's hands went white as she gripped her rocks glass. "That's right."</p><p>"Until Cailan found out he had a long lost baby brother, and sought out Alistair. Turns out the two got along famously. So famously, in fact, that Cailan changed his will." I reached into the folder, plucked out a stack of stapled documents, and handed them over the desk to Anora.</p><p>She stared at the papers in my hand as if they were a basket of snakes, but after another brave pull from her glass, she reached out for them.</p><p>"The Last Will and Testament of Cailan Theirin," she read, before looking up at me sharply. "Cailan changed his will?"</p><p>I nodded at the papers. "It's all in there. He leaves you the houses, the cars, the money but… his shares of Mabari Industries? They all go to Alistair Theirin."</p><p>I imagine to someone that's not a student of the human condition, the wave of successive emotions that flowed over Anora Theirin's face might have been difficult to pick up. But I saw it all. The way her eyes widened and her lips parted at first in disbelief, only to recover the next moment as the anger took over and settled in. Her jaw set. Her shoulders tensed.</p><p>I chanced a glance at Hawke. She studied Anora and frowned openly. I wondered if she had seen the same parade of feelings I had witnessed. My guess was yes, and perhaps more. Alright, so perhaps Hawke isn't a complete fool when it comes to reading people.</p><p>"There's more." Hawke nodded at the folder still in my hand. "Go on."</p><p>"Right."</p><p>It was an ugly scene. Documents—letters, official papers, all of it—confirmed that not only was Cailan having a tawdry affair with an Orlesian heiress, he intended to file for divorce from Anora.</p><p>"So, it's true," she said softly, gazing at the floor. "My father… he must've thought he was protecting me…"</p><p>Hawke gave a derisive laugh. "Protecting you? Protecting you would be hiring a damn good attorney. It's not filling two people full of lead and pinning the blame on some innocent kid…"</p><p>Anora bent her head. "Yes, of course." She smoothed her hand over the documents in her lap. "These really do seem to suggest that my father… my father is a murderer."</p><p>Varric shrugged. "To be perfectly honest, our evidence is all circumstantial. It points to motive, but it doesn't prove Loghain did the deed. But if you turn that over to the police, it'll at least get them looking at the right suspect. Especially coming from the suspect's own daughter."</p><p>"Yes, of course," Anora murmured, and then coughed into her hand. "Well, Mr. Tethras, I must say, I'm very satisfied with the quality and… and thoroughness of your work. Thank you very much for all you've done." She stood, and then gave a polite nod to Hawke. "My assistant will send out payment for your services immediately, plus any expenses you might've incurred, of course. I'll see myself out."</p><p>At times like this I wished my office were larger. It'd have been more poetic if Anora had had to click her heels a good distance to the door before being stopped by Hawke's sing-song voice. "Oh Anora?"</p><p>As it was, Anora had hardly gone two strides before turning back to look at my partner with agitated impatience. "Yes?"</p><p>"If you decide not to go to the police with that treasure trove of evidence we just handed over? You might discover that we found more than just a few letters and the will in that safe of Cailan's. Or, more precisely, Kirkwall's illustrious newspapers might discover your family's most reviled and hidden secrets."</p><p>Whatever apology instinctively rose to my lips at Hawke's sneering tone vanished when I saw Anora's expression. For the span of a breath, the poised and wealthy socialite was gone, replaced by something animal like… trapped, but more frightened than dangerous at the moment.</p><p>"Of course," she snapped, turned on her heel, and left.</p><p>I sat down with an audible huff once the door slammed shut. Resting my face in my hands, I laughed—I couldn't help myself. "That poor woman."</p><p>My eyes were closed, but I could imagine the eye rolling Hawke was indulging in. "What'd ya mean that poor woman? You saw her face… she was torn about pitching her old man under the bus once she found out about what Cailan had planned. She would have let that innocent kid fry before giving up her own father." She snorted. "That poor woman, my ass."</p><p>My hands dropped from my face. "Yes, but… now she thinks there's some even more horrible secret her family's been keeping all this time that she's gotta keep out of the papers."</p><p>Our eyes met, and Hawke's lips twitched, and then the dam broke. We laughed long and hard at Anora's expense, I'm not ashamed to say.</p><p>At last, after the laughter waned for good. I shook my head, exhaling noisily. "In all seriousness, Hawke, if this case had cost me my partner, I don't know what I'd have done."</p><p>Hawke's blue eyes widened a moment, before twinkling back at me. "You'd probably retire peacefully."</p><p>I laughed. "Never."</p><p>It was a lie, I realized only just then. The truth was, if I lost Hawke…</p><p>Well, every story has to have an ending, doesn't it?</p><p>In that sobering moment I realized just whose story I was in, where mine began and ended.</p><p>With Hawke.</p><p>I poured us another round, and we drank whiskey and told each other stories for a good part of the night, as a new moon rose over an indifferent Kirkwall.</p>
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